


Hostage

by confundedgryffindor



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Happy Ending, M/M, Nightmares, Orion Black's A+ Parenting, Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Running Away, The Prank, Walburga Black's A+ Parenting, figuring stuff out, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:55:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22178149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confundedgryffindor/pseuds/confundedgryffindor
Summary: Sirius' life had always been decided for him: which Hogwarts house he was going to end up in, which witch he would marry and whom his friends were. Except he never wanted that.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 10
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> heed the tags, as they could change as this story goes on.
> 
> this was originally written for last year's wolfstar games, but alas, real life has come in my way so much that i haven't been able to finish this. i had the prompt _"All of us are put in boxes by are family, by our religion, by our society, our moment in history, even our own bodies. Some people have the courage to break free."_
> 
> i honestly don't know how often i'll be able to update this, because i literally started writing it last summer and it is not yet finished, but i hope to get it all done and posted as soon as possible.
> 
> this is all beta'd by jencala, who has been amazing and supportive and has removed all my commas all the time

“Keep quiet,” Orion hissed. “And do as I say.”

“Why?” Sirius asked. He didn’t look at his father, he kept his eyes firmly planted on the dinner table, looking at the swirls and dots on the polished wood. He knew he shouldn’t question it; he would always get the same answer. 

_ It is your duty as the Black heir to carry our name to something respectable. It is your duty to carry on to greatness. You can’t waste your time running around with Regulus. Read your books, sit up straight. Keep quiet and do not question it. _

“Because it is your duty,” Orion said sharply. “You know this Sirius.”

Sirius swallowed hard, still not looking up.  _ It is your duty.  _ That was just it, wasn’t it? He didn’t have a choice, another opportunity, he just had to  _ be.  _ Be the Black heir, carry the name, stand up tall and pretend to care. Be bigger, older than he was, pretend to know everything when he was only ten years old and all he wanted was to play Exploding Snap with Regulus. His whole life he’d been raised as the  _ heir,  _ learning which fork was used for eating salad and which spoon was used for soups, forced to keep his head high and back straight even though he had invisible but painful bruises and cuts from when he’d failed to be perfect. The polished, picture perfect heir, but never  _ Sirius.  _ He was another piece in a never ending puzzle, another knot along the line,  _ Sirius Orion Black the Third, the heir.  _ Never a child, never a son. Never  _ Sirius.  _

“Don’t you, Sirius?” Orion said. He didn’t ask, he stated it - a rhetorical question. “You know what you’re supposed to do, don’t you? You know your duty?”

Sirius bit his cheek and straightened his back, hands splayed over his thighs, aching to fiddle and tap, make a noise in the otherwise quiet dining room. He took a deep breath. “Yes.”

“And what is that?”

“To carry on, keep the Black name respectable—”  _ And feared. _ Sirius’ fingers twitched. “Carry on with our… Legacy.” 

_ Legacy.  _ It sounded stupid. It sounded bigger than what their family was. Their family wasn’t great—it was wretched, twisted and foul. Their family was boring dinners and long meetings about complicated laws Sirius didn’t understand. Their family was respected out of fear, great because no one else stepped in the way. But Sirius didn’t question it. His father said that it was supposed to be this way, and even if Sirius didn’t want to comply, even if he wanted to run around the house and have fun, he listened. Because it was supposed to be this way, no matter how twisted and foul. Sitting up straight was supposed to hurt, reading book after book was normal, bruises and cuts and yells were merely means of discipline.

_ You’re difficult, Sirius.  _ His mother often said.  _ You don’t listen, you don’t stay quiet—Silencio—nor do you sit still—Incarcerous—we have to do this. So you’ll listen, and do as you’re told.  _

It rang in his ears constantly, repeating like a mantra.  _ Stay quiet and do as you’re told.  _ He didn’t want it, but he had to. It was supposed to be this way. The faint scars on his back were supposed to be there, his parents’ words were supposed to repeat, over and over until they sunk in. Until Sirius listened.

“Good,” Orion said. He put his arm on Sirius’ shoulder, then pushed a stack of books towards him. “Now tell me, what are the dangers of half-breeds?”

Sirius wanted to say no, he wanted to get up and leave and play with Regulus and have Kreacher make them chocolate eclairs, but he straightened his back and began reciting the useless words that he had burned in at the top of his brain.

Later that evening, Sirius and his father stood in one of the many halls of the Ministry of Magic, right outside of the Wizengamot. Orion had his hand firmly planted on Sirius’ shoulder, a hand that said  _ don’t you dare do anything bad now.  _ Sirius wanted to sigh, he wanted to go home, but this was important. He had to see how things were done, even though he didn’t want to. 

Sirius wasn’t even quite sure what this ‘important meeting’ was about, he never was. He usually just sat in the hall where the meetings were held, only half listening to what was being said as he tried not to squirm too much in his seat. He was always uncomfortable in these meetings—people always looked at him with something  _ else  _ in their eyes that they tried to push down, admiration, fear,  _ pity.  _ And he hated it all. Sirius didn’t want to be admired or feared, and he definitely didn’t want to be pitied. It was supposed to be this way, he  _ knew  _ that. There was no need to pity him for something that was  _ normal.  _ His cousins went through the same thing. Sure, they were older, but Cissy and Bella weren’t even heirs and they went through the exact same thing as Sirius. Sit up straight, listen, be punished if they didn’t. 

Sirius didn’t know what his cousins thought about it, though. He knew that  _ he _ hated it, he knew that he wanted to be something else, someone else, but he never told anyone. Maybe his cousins were the exact same as him. Maybe the reluctance was normal. 

Sirius let out a quiet sigh and decided not to think about it, about anything at all. The doors to the meeting hall had opened, so he didn’t have time to think about it, he had to sit up straight and make sure that he looked good next to his father. He had to look like his father was doing a fantastic job at raising him and taking care of him, with his hair forcibly slicked back with potions and spells to tame his curls, with his expensive and fitted robes. He had to look like the picture perfect, polished heir that he was supposed to be.

Sirius watched as his father spoke, not listening to the words he said. Orion leaned forward, crossing his arms over the wooden table in front of him but somehow keeping his back straight, and Sirius did the same. He didn’t quite reach up to the table with his arms, but he had to do  _ something,  _ his fingers were itching and his legs were restless and he couldn’t sit still, and if Orion could lean forward, then so could Sirius. He felt eyes on him, someone even smiled in his direction, and Sirius wondered  _ why.  _ Why he was sitting there, why  _ he  _ was so important and why people were looking at him, and not at the bearded wizard at the front, or at the woman with the unruly brown hair who was currently speaking.

After the meeting, Orion was holding onto Sirius’ hand, and Sirius knew that it wasn’t a protective hand, it wasn’t a fatherly hand. It was a  _ don’t leave  _ kind of hand, keeping him in check. The same hand, always lying heavy on Sirius’ shoulder, keeping him still. Sirius was staring down at his shoes, scruffing his toes against the uneven stone floor as Orion spoke to a Lestrange or Rosier or someone else important that Sirius should know but didn’t bother with memorising.

The woman from the meeting—the one with the unruly hair—approached them, a faint smile tugging on her lips, “Oh Mr. Black,” the woman said. “Is this little Sirius? He looks  _ just  _ like you! So adorable!”

Orion smiled at her, a foul and twisted fake smile that looked more like a sneer. Sirius looked up at his father. He knew that he looked like him, black hair slicked back, expensive robes, neutral expression,  _ polished and picture perfect.  _ Sirius quickly looked down at his shoes again. “Thank you, Madame Flint,” Orion said, tightening his grip on Sirius’ hand as a way to tell him that he was supposed to say something as well. 

Sirius straightened his back and looked up at the woman—Madame Flint—before giving her the most charming smile he could muster. “Yes, thank you, Madame.”

“Oh, well behaved as well!” she cooed, as if Sirius was a well-trained dog or a five year old, and not a ten year old who probably knew more about magical laws than she did. For some reason, Sirius wanted to sneer, for some reason, he was irritated with this woman. He didn’t even know where the stupid thoughts and the sneers came from, because he didn’t  _ want  _ to be respected or ‘mighty’, at the same time as he thought ‘I am a Black and you should respect me, not treat me like a  _ house dog.’  _ Sirius’ lips curled, forming the sneer he wanted to keep down, and the woman’s smile faded. 

“Yes,” Orion said before Sirius could even think of defending himself in some way. “Very well behaved, but we must be leaving. Dinner is probably getting plated up as we speak.” 

“Of course,” Madame Flint said, giving another small smile, though it didn't look as bright and sincere this time. 

Orion tugged at Sirius’ hand, signalling for him to follow to one of the Apparition points. Sirius followed, but not without shooting another sneer in the direction of Madame Flint. They walked slowly, and Sirius still held his head high, even though he wanted to crawl into bed and just stop going to these meetings and stop caring, at the same time as he cared too much. He was so confused, not even understanding his thoughts half of the time. Sometimes, he wanted to be what his parents wanted of him; to be respected, hold his head high and just power through everything, hoping that it would get better, somehow, some day. But most of the time, he was just tired; tired of the bruises and the yelling and the reading and he just wanted to be a  _ kid _ , but he didn’t know how to just break free. Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe he was stuck. 

He felt the dizzying, tugging feeling of being Apparated and suddenly Sirius and his father were standing in the hallway of Number 12 Grimmauld place. Orion let go of his hand as if Sirius was something venomous and he couldn’t help the pang that went through his chest. It was cold in the house and it smelled of Kreacher’s surprisingly good cooking. Sirius swallowed hard and shed his cloak and shoes despite the cold house; shivering was better than yelling. He waited for his father to go into the kitchen, then he followed and sat down next to Regulus by the table. Regulus smiled at them both, bouncing in his seat before seemingly remembering that it’s not  _ appropriate  _ to bounce in his seat, and he stilled. Back straight, slicked back hair, looking more like their mother than Sirius. Softer.

“Was the meeting good? Successful?” Walburga asked, more out of habit than actual care. She held out her plate to Kreacher, who levitated beef stew and rice onto her plate. Sirius frowned, he liked potatoes more than rice, but he didn't dare to say anything about it. 

“It was fine,” Orion said shortly before turning to Sirius. “You, however, need to learn your manners.” Sirius’ back straightened, and he kept his eyes firmly on his plate. “Sneering at members of the Wizengamot,” Orion continued, his voice disbelieving, tone condescending. 

“She disrespected me,” Sirius said, suddenly looking up at his father. “I am not a  _ house dog,  _ Father, and I don’t want to be treated as one.” He hated the words that came out of his mouth. They tasted bitter and sour and  _ wrong,  _ but he kept his eyes on the slicked back and slightly receding hairline of his father, steely, cold and as stern as he could muster. His mother was surprisingly, quiet, and when Sirius allowed his eyes to flicker over to her, he didn’t see disappointment or anger written over her face, but  _ pride,  _ and suddenly his mouth tasted more bitter than before. His eyes flickered back to Orion and saw the same thing. Buried underneath the layers of steely cold, the frustration and anger, was a glint of pride, and Sirius suddenly hated everything a bit more.

The kitchen was eerily quiet, Sirius staring down Orion down until he exhaled heavily and gave a small, but sincere smile that somehow looked twisted and foul no matter what. He held his plate out to Kreacher, then said, “No, you are not, Sirius.”

Sirius slumped down a little in his seat and stared down at his plate, which levitated off the table, then floated back a few seconds later, filled with Kreacher’s stew and  _ potatoes.  _

Sirius had always liked Regulus’ room better than his own, but he never knew why. It didn’t seem to be as cold and miserable as his own, even though it was decorated with the same greens and silvers and mahogany wood, it felt brighter, more hopeful, and Sirius spent as much time in there as possible. He didn’t know why, exactly, but he was always drawn to Regulus in a way. They were brothers, so they must’ve had a bond between them, but Sirius had seen how his cousins acted around each other and they didn’t seem to be even remotely as close as Sirius and Regulus were. Perhaps Sirius was drawn to the innocence Regulus still had, the imagination and hopefulness still prominent, not yet touched by their parents. He wasn’t the steely cold glares from their father or the loud screaming from their mother; he was warm. Regulus was what made Grimmauld  _ home. _

They were there now, in Regulus’ much warmer room, the old and battered Chess set stood abandoned next to them after Sirius had lost four rounds in a row and decided that the game was stupid and unnecessary. He was much better at Exploding Snap anyways. Regulus had replaced the chess-playing with a piece of parchment, and he was laying on his stomach, quill scratching away at the rough surface as he sketched…  _ something.  _ Sirius sat opposite of him, legs crossed under tailored robes. He was picking at his cuticles, just enjoying the presence of his brother, the feeling of love.

“Do you think they have a piano at Hogwarts?” Regulus asked, his quill wiggling furiously in his hand when he filled in something on the parchment. Sirius stopped picking at his cuticles and shrugged.

“I’unno, probably.” He peered over his brother’s arm, trying to catch a glimpse of the drawing. “What are you drawing?”

“A map,” Regulus replied. “Andy, Bella and Cissy are the  _ worst  _ at explaining Hogwarts, so I’m drawing it.”

“Oh?” Sirius scooted closer, looking down at the parchment. It was messy, with ink smudges and blotches here and there, but it was  _ good.  _ Annoyingly good. It was a picture of a room, with large sofas and armchairs, fluffy pillows they never saw in Grimmauld, full of detailed portraits and statues. It was sketched in ink, as that was the only thing their parents allowed them, but Sirius could almost imagine it filled with colours and life. It was unbelievable seeing how Regulus was only eight and could barely hold a quill in their joint classroom without Walburga berating him and saying that he held it wrong, but in the privacy of his own room he had created a masterpiece. 

“It’s the Slytherin common room,” Regulus said, and as soon as he’d said it, Sirius could imagine the greens and silvers he’d seen on Cissy and Andy’s robes. He could see the important Purebloods he’d met during dinners with the Sacred 28, he could see  _ life _ . 

“It’s good, Reg.” Sirius ruffled his brother’s hair, unsticking it from the spells and potions keeping it down. Regulus tried to draw away, but he was grinning. 

“Thank you,” he said. “Will you tell me about it when you go?”

Sirius bit his lip, thinking for a split second that he probably wouldn’t be allowed to spend time on feeding something that was merely an interest and not something  _ important _ , but he shook the thought out of his head and smiled at Regulus. “Of course.”

_ The first thing Sirius notices is that it’s warm. Warm and comfortable, and not cold and clammy like it usually is in his home. He cracks an eye open, and he’s immediately met with the golden sun rays streaming through his window. He doesn’t feel cold and clammy, he’s not scared of getting out of bed. He feels happy. A smile spreads across his face and he sits up, and all of a sudden he’s sitting by the dinner table. Dread washes over him, but then he realises that it’s still warm, the lightning is still yellow and his family is  _ **_laughing._ ** _ They’re not mock-laughing either, they look genuinely happy. Sirius smiles and his mother turns to him. She’s smiling, an actual warm smile, one that reaches her eyes and causes them to glitter. She looks pleasant like that, Sirius thinks, when she’s not guarded or angry or stern. She looks alive. _

_ Walburga reaches over the table and puts her hand on Sirius’ and for the first time it’s not cold. It’s warm and the touch feels so caring, in a way. _

_ “Go on,” she says. “You can leave now, Sirius. It’s okay.” _

_ Sirius’ eyes widen, and suddenly his chest feels even warmer. “Really?” _

_ “You’re free.” _

_ Sirius smiles as he stands up and he walks out of the kitchen, towards the front door and out on the street. Suddenly everything goes cold and grey. Birds are screeching and dogs are barking and Sirius is shivering and and he feels so small,  _ **_terrified_ ** _. He feels something grip his shoulder, sharp talons, digging in and pulling him back. Pulling and pulling and pulling into more darkness and even colder rooms and he hears the manic laugh from his mother, he feels the disapproving glare from his father. The grip on his shoulder hurts so much and he’s just going backwards, backwards. _

_ “How dare you—,” his mother begins in a high pitched shriek, one that hurts his ears and makes him want to curl up into himself. _

_ “You’re not going anywhere,” his father says, cutting his mother off. “Now sit up straight and do as we say.” _

  
Sirius woke up with a jolt, sweat clinging to his hair and tears rolling down his cheeks. He couldn’t breathe, and he swore he could still feel the talons digging into his shoulder, pulling and pulling, forcing him to stay even though he didn’t want to.  _ You’re not going anywhere. _


	2. Chaper Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a slight warning in this one, for walburga and her fabulous parenting

Sirius stared at the dark red steam engine in front of him, barely registering his mother’s words coming from his side. All he could think about was her sharp, talon-like nails digging into his shoulder, keeping him where he was. All he could think about was that he was leaving Regulus alone with their  _ wretched  _ parents; leaving him with the same talon nails and sharp breaths and loud, unprovoked yelling and Sirius wouldn’t be there to take it instead. 

“Sirius,” said his mother sharply. “Are you listening to me?”

_ No.  _ “Yes.”

Walburga tightened her hold on Sirius’ shoulder, talons digging in further, further until he couldn’t do anything but listen so she would let go. “I have talked to Andromeda, Bellatrix and Narcissa and asked them to keep an eye on you. We don’t want you to get up to any funny business when we aren’t around.” 

Sirius’ blood ran cold. Icy and painful, keeping him more still than before, leaving him barely breathing.  _ You’re not going anywhere.  _ “Okay,” he said, despite the icy cold feeling going through him, right down to his very bones.

Walburga let go of his shoulder and snapped her fingers, making Kreacher appear not even a second later, holding Sirius’ mahogany trunk. “Kreacher, help Sirius get on the train, will you?”

“Yes, Mistress,” Kreacher said, hauling up the trunk before he started wobbling towards one of the many doors of the Hogwarts Express. Sirius made a move to follow, but Walburga grabbed his shoulder again.  _ Sharp talons pulling him backwards, backwards.  _

She crouched down and wrapped her arms around Sirius, which would’ve looked completely innocent and motherly to anyone looking in from an outside perspective, but Sirius froze. Walburga pulled him closer, and Sirius, despite the icy cold feeling still digging into him, almost leaned into the embrace, until Walburga put her pointy chin on his shoulder and leaned in further and whispered, “Behave, or you’ll spend Christmas break in the cellar,” right in his ear. Sirius shuddered. 

“Yes, Mother.”

Walburga pulled away and rose to her full, rather impressive height again and gave Sirius a tight, cold and insincere smile. “Good. Move along now, Kreacher must’ve picked a compartment for you already.”

Sirius didn’t say goodbye as he walked towards the train, nor did his mum, but he could feel her glare burn into the back of his neck, causing a shiver to go down his spine.

Sirius sat down by the window in the empty compartment Kreacher had picked out for him once he’d wrestled past the crowd of students bustling around the train. He sat with his back straight as always, unreasonably scared that Walburga would appear out of nowhere and yell at him if he let his shoulders slump for even a second, but his eyes were fixed on the window, staring out on the mass of people still gathered on the platform. Parents who were hugging their children, older students standing grouped together, talking before they had to board the train. Sirius’ stomach twisted uncomfortably, but he didn’t know why.

He sat there, undisturbed in the blissfully quiet compartment, staring out the window until the platform emptied and the train started moving, leaving Kings Cross behind.  _ You’re not going anywhere,  _ his father’s voice echoed in his head, but Sirius shook the voice out of his head,  _ I’m going right now, and you can’t stop me. _

The beige walls of Kings Cross turned into grey asphalt and muggle vehicles zooming past, and Sirius let out a big breath of relief.  _ I’m going right now, and you can’t stop me. _

“Can I sit here?” Sirius’ head whipped around at the voice. A boy stood in the doorway, trunk in hand. He didn’t look like any wizard Sirius had seen before; his black hair was unruly, sticking out in all kinds of directions, and not slicked back like Sirius’ always was, his skin was dark and he had a pair of thick rimmed, square glasses perched atop his nose, which he pushed up with his free hand. If he wasn’t dressed in rather pristine wizard’s robes, Sirius would have assumed he was a mudblood. “Everywhere else is full,” the boy added.

“Go ahead.” Sirius gestured to the seat in front of him then looked back out at the landscapes whirring past the windows, which were slowly turning green as the muggle vehicles turned to trees and bushes instead. 

“I’m James Potter,” the boy said, and suddenly the muggle-like appearance made sense—he was a blood traitor. At first Sirius wanted to sneer, to tell him to go away and leave Sirius alone, but then his mind supplied _Friend,_ and Sirius offered a weak, hopefully sincere smile instead. 

“Sirius Black.”

“Oh.” Potter frowned at him and his hand went up to his hair to mess it up even further. 

“What?” It came out sharper, more venomous than he’d intended, and for a split second, all Sirius thought was  _ I hate myself. _

“Nothing,” Potter said. “It’s just… My mum says your family is bad.”

“I’m not like them,” Sirius said, even though he was  _ exactly  _ like them. He looked the same, said the same things, he didn’t want to be them, but he was and there was no escaping it. 

_ You’re not going anywhere.  _

_ I’m going right now, and you can’t stop me. _

“Oh,” Potter said. “Well then, Sirius, it’s nice to meet you.”

Sirius gave him a weak smile before he looked out the window again, hoping for some peace and quiet, an escape from his thoughts that were still stuck in Grimmauld Place, but then Potter said, “Which house are you hoping to be in? I want to be a Gryffindor, like my dad. He’s ace. Like, he looks like a stuck up prat, and he’s a Potions Master, but he’s actually really cool and plays Quidditch with me all the time. Do you like Quidditch? I want to be captain one day, hopefully before fifth year. I’m a chaser, what do you play?” Potter seemed to push it all out on one breath, and when he was done talking he took such a big gulp of air you could’ve thought he had been drowning.

“Er…” Sirius said, staring at Potter. 

“Sorry.” Potter grinned sheepishly. “Mum always says I talk too much.”

“Mine too,” Sirius muttered. 

Potter took another deep breath, then asked, “Which house do you want to be in?” again.

Sirius shrugged. “I have to be in Slytherin.”

“ _ Have  _ to be?” Potter asked. “What do you mean,  _ have to be?  _ Do you  _ want  _ to be in Slytherin?”

Sirius shrugged again. 

“You can be in Gryffindor, with me,” Potter said, smiling. “And we’ll be on the Quidditch team together and get more friends, but we’ll be best friends, you and me.”

Sirius smiled, even though he knew that he couldn’t be friends with a blood traitor or be sorted into Gryffindor or be  _ Sirius. _

The Great Hall looked more beautiful (and downright more magical) than Cissy, Bella and Andy had explained in the past during those stuck up dinners they’d had, cousins and aunts and uncles gathered together to talk about nonsense Sirius had to understand but didn’t, when they would sneak away after the second course and Andy would teach them simple levitation charms and Bella would show them how a stinging hex felt (though Sirius already knew that—his mother liked using those more than she should) and Cissy would talk about which bathrooms had the best mirror for fixing your hair between classes without the mirrors talking back to you, how Regulus would beg for them to describe every hallway for his map, how Sirius would listen intently and think about how much better it sounded than Grimmauld. 

And it was. The enchanted ceiling, the floating candles and the hundreds of students gathered around the long tables was far more magical than anything Sirius had ever seen before. Apparating with his father and watching small wounds and scrapes heal before his eyes didn’t amount to the warm,  _ magical  _ feeling in his chest. And when the first name got called up to be Sorted, the warm feeling disappeared and was replaced with the icy cold, heavy feeling he’d felt before. 

He didn’t want to be like his family, he didn’t want to be sorted into Slytherin and live the rest of his life as an heir. He wanted to be like Potter; proud and secure in what he wanted and believed. Perhaps he wanted to be sorted into Gryffindor alongside him, his new  _ friend.  _ Or perhaps he just wanted  _ out. _ At the same time he knew that staying where he was supposed to be would be the easiest alternative and it wasn’t worth fighting it. He hated the constant lecturing and the yelling and hurtful spells, but if he opposed his parents, if he got sorted somewhere else, it would get worse. He wanted out at the same time as he wanted in and it made him so confused. Too confused. 

The Hall erupted in cheers, cutting Sirius’ thoughts off, and he got his focus back in time to see a girl walking towards the Hufflepuff table. Sirius didn’t cheer. He just stared down at his far too shiny shoes, thinking about how he wanted and didn’t want and how much he hated everything, how he wanted to talk more to James but knew that he had to keep to the ones in Slytherin. 

“Black, Sirius,” Professor McGonagall said loudly, peering over her spectacles to try and catch Sirius’ eye. 

Suddenly his hands were shaking and everything was cold and all eyes were on him and he couldn’t breathe properly, but Sirius straightened his back, held his head high and walked up to his future Professor. He sat down on the spindly chair and looked out over the tables, and then the Sorting Hat was placed on his head and everything went dark.

_ Ohh… Another Black. A tricky one, I might add,  _ said a voice, echoing in his head and Sirius thought for a split second that he was going insane before he realised that it was the  _ hat _ , speaking to him, but not quite _. A lot of wit, I see, and knowledge… You’ve a brave soul, Sirius, loyal at heart, but also… Cunning. And ambitious…  _

Sirius bit his lip, trying not to listen as the Hat practically tore him apart. 

_ You’d do great in Gryffindor, or perhaps… Slytherin? _ The Hat continued. 

_ No,  _ Sirius thought, not even knowing which house he said no to. 

_ I think, perhaps… Slytherin. _

_ NO!  _ Sirius screwed his eyes shut even though he couldn’t see anything. His heart thundered in his chest, the word  _ no  _ repeating in his head like a mantra.

_ Well then, I suppose it better be…  _ “GRYFFINDOR!” The chattering Hall fell silent as McGonagall lifted the Hat off Sirius' head, and he rose from his seat so fast his vision went black and prickly for a few seconds. No one cheered for him like they had for the previous students, they only stared.

Sirius looked over to the Slytherin table where his cousins sat, glaring at him with their mouths agape. Sirius stared back for a few seconds, his heart thundering,  _ thundering  _ violently in his chest, his hands trembling as he thought about what his parents would say. He could almost imagine the slaps and the screams and the disappointed glares. He swallowed hard, straightened his back and then made his way to the Gryffindor table where he sat down alone, as far away from people as he could.

He tuned out the rest of the sorting, too far up in his head to even pretend to pay attention. He thought of what his mother had said on the platform;  _ Behave, or you’ll spend Christmas break in the cellar.  _ He didn’t doubt her words for one second. The cellar was the mildest punishment he could think of, the worst bordering on things he didn’t even want to think about.

Potter sat down opposite of Sirius, smiling brightly and pulling him out of his thoughts. “I suppose we can be best friends now.”

“Boys’ dormitories up the stairs to the left,” said the Prefect, whose name Sirius hadn’t bothered registering. He was too far up in his head, too far up in  _ Mother is going to kill me  _ to remember the names of the Prefects and boys Potter talked to as they walked up to Gryffindor Tower, too shaky to feel anything else than his heart racing,  _ thundering  _ against his ribcage. Too scared to talk.

Sirius walked up the spiral staircase, ignoring Potter’s calls after him, and pushed open the door that said  _ First Years. _

There were three other beds in the dormitory Sirius had to call home for the next seven years, other than the one where his own, dark mahogany trunk stood. It looked out of place in the dorm which was decorated in warm reds and oranges; dark with silver buttons and linings, and the Black family crest standing out on the dark wood. Sirius gave his trunk a forceful kick, sending a jolt of pain up his foot, before he sat down on the bed. It was comfortable, more comfortable than Sirius wanted to admit, but he didn’t let himself sink back into the soft mattress just yet. 

Potter and the other two boys in his year hadn’t gotten up to the dorm yet, so Sirius sat alone on the foot of his bed, looking over the room. The three other trunks which stood in front of their respective beds looked like they fit in much more, somehow. The trunk next to Sirius was pristine, without a scratch, with the letters  _ J. F. P  _ engraved on the front, and Sirius assumed it was Potter’s. The one next to that wasn’t engraved, and looked to be out of plastic and not wood, a mudblood’s, perhaps? It was bright blue and shiny, and should’ve looked more out of place than Sirius’, but it didn’t. It looked like it fit in far more than Sirius ever could. 

Before Sirius could take a look at the last trunk, the door swung open and Potter walked in, followed by two other boys. 

“Sirius!” Potter exclaimed. “There you are. Did you guys introduce yourselves? This is Remus and Peter, they— Maybe you should introduce yourselves alone?” Potter flushed red, scratching the back of his neck.

Sirius looked up at the boys—one of them had already moved to the bed in front of Sirius’, and he looked so…  _ different  _ from anyone Sirius had ever seen before. His hair was a mess of shaggy, dusty blond curls on his head, and his robes looked worn out and slightly too large for his short, skinny frame. He stuck up a hand and waved carefully, “I’m Remus,” he said quietly, carefully, almost. “Lupin. Remus Lupin,” he added. Sirius nodded curtly, unsure of what to say other than a weak, ‘Hello.’

“I’m Peter Pettigrew,” said the boy still standing next to James. Sirius thought he looked a tiny bit like a rat at first glance; short and round, with two large front teeth that stuck out a little when he spoke. Sirius nodded again. 

“Hi,” he mumbled, then closed the curtains around his bed, too tired to talk to anyone, still to far up in  _ I won’t fit in,  _ and  _ My parents are going to murder me.  _

Sirius had only been at Hogwarts for a week, and he found himself in some weird limbo of  _ I want to go home  _ and  _ I never want to step foot in that house ever again.  _ He had barely slept either, as comfortable as his new mattress was, he always found himself waking up in a cold sweat and his father’s voice echoing menacingly in his head, his mother’s talons digging into his shoulder, pulling him backwards, backwards even though she wasn’t there. She’d sent a letter though, a short and simple ‘I have never been more disappointed in you, Sirius. You are not welcome home for the winter holidays.’ which somehow hurt more than any other punishment he’d been given in his entire life. 

He couldn’t fit in. Pettigrew and Lupin talked about muggle things, dragging a curious Potter with them as they spoke about something they called comics, which were just small portraits that didn’t even move, and Potter would try to drag Sirius into the conversation, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t talk about anything and he couldn’t sleep and he wanted to go home even though he didn’t know where home was. 

Lupin didn’t talk much either, only when the boys were gathered on Potter’s bed with their comics, and even then he only said few, short sentences. Potter talked for all of them anyway, so perhaps it didn’t matter. 

He was talking now, Potter, pushing it all out in a surprisingly long breath outside of Sirius’ curtains as Sirius tossed and turned under his covers, batting away imaginary talons that kept pulling, pulling. It had only been a week, and he wanted all seven years to be over now. 

Sirius was definitely not crying and he was absolutely not shaking, still feeling talons digging into his shoulder.  _ Don’t cry, Sirius, it’s childish,  _ his mother’s voice echoed in his head, just like it always did. Three weeks had he been here, and he hadn’t managed to sleep through the night yet. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. Everything was cramped and cold and pulling and pushing and somewhere, crows were croaking,  _ screeching  _ in his ears. He tried to muffle a sob in his hand, cracked and wet and disgusting sounding against his palm, but someone must’ve heard because the floorboards creaked, loud and ominous. Another sob escaped his lips. 

“Sirius?” It was Potter, right behind his curtains. 

“Go away.” Sirius wiped his cheeks with an almost  _ trembling  _ hand. The curtains swung open, revealing a very sleepy looking Potter. He looked strange without glasses on, Sirius realised, then thought that he should’ve noticed that earlier. He would have realised that earlier if he knew how to talk to him. 

“No, you’re crying,” Potter stated. He climbed up on the bed, and Sirius immediately moved away.

“No.” Sirius sniffed, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. 

“Okay…” Potter scooted a bit closer, resulting in Sirius backing away. “Sirius,” he said, suddenly sounding very stern and, well, serious. “We were supposed to be best friends, remember?” 

Potter put his hand on Sirius’ shoulder, and Sirius flinched. All he could feel were talons, sharp and forceful. Another tear slipped down his cheek. 

“Don’t. Don’t touch me, please.” He sounded so small, he  _ felt  _ small, frightened and cold and alone.

“I’m sorry,” Potter said. “My mum always hugs me when I’m sad, you know. Before I left for school I even slept in my parent’s bed with them, but don’t tell the others.” He grinned sheepishly. 

Sirius swallowed hard and looked down at his hands. ”My mum never hugs me,” he whispered. 

“What?” Potter asked, far louder than necessary. Sirius shook his head, black and slightly unruly curls bouncing on his face as he did. Potter huffed. “That’s… What was it Remus said?” he was quiet for a few seconds, then clapped his hands together. “Bullshit! It’s bullshit. Hugs are the best. Do you… Do you want one?”

”No,” Sirius said. Then, ”Yes.”

Potter scooted closer and carefully wrapped his arms around Sirius, pulling him close. Sirius swallowed hard and sat rigid in Potter’s embrace for a few seconds until he finally let himself lean into it, finally let himself relax and think about something else, something that wasn’t sharp talons and stinging hexes.

“It’s a comic,” Remus repeated for the third time. 

“Yes, you said that,” Sirius said. “But I’m just… Why don’t they move?”

“Because it’s muggle,” Peter said.

“Muggle portraits don’t move?” Sirius stared at Peter and Remus with wide eyes. 

“No,” Peter replied. “They do on the telly though, but these are just drawings.”

“Telly? What’s that?” 

Peter sighed heavily before he jumped into an explanation with complicated words about how portraits and pictures played like they do in real life, but in a box. It didn’t make any sense to Sirius, nor did the fact that he had suddenly become friends with all three boys in his dormitory. Sharing a hug with a person you don’t know after a nightmare does wonders for that, apparently.

He and James were best friends now, like James had promised on the train. Sirius didn’t really know what it meant, if he was being honest, but it seemed to just be them talking in the dorm and playing Exploding Snap, usually with Peter and Remus joining in as well. They only seemed to talk when James was with them, but for some reason Sirius didn’t mind. He almost found it comforting; how he could lay all his trust on one person and just  _ be  _ with the others. For the first time, Sirius just felt like  _ Sirius. _ He didn’t have to care about how to sit, he didn’t have to glue his hair back with tons of ridiculous potions, he didn’t have to watch his mouth. Instead he could slump his shoulders, he could let his hair fall down in those ridiculous curls, let them brush his ears, he could say  _ why  _ and  _ no.  _ There were no directions, no rules, only  _ Sirius and his friends.  _

“You know,” Remus said, flinging his comic book off the bed. “We were supposed to do homework.”

“We need to wait for James,” Sirius said. He looked over to the door, waiting for it to swing open and hit against the wall with a loud thunk, in true James-fashion.

“Why?” Peter asked. 

“Because I’ve already done the homework,” Sirius explained. “And I was supposed to help him.”

“You could help us instead.”

“I can help all of you at the same time when James gets here,” Sirius said. 

“How come you’ve already done the homework?” Remus asked. “We got it like two days ago.”

“Couldn’t sleep last night.” Sirius shrugged. “And charms is easy once you know the theory.”

“Can you do the spell then?” Peter asked. Sirius nodded and retrieved his wand from his pocket, thinking that perhaps he could try to do wordlessly, then decided that he wasn’t  _ that _ good yet, even though he wanted to be.

He cleared his throat, mostly for show, then said, “ _ Wingardium Leviosa, _ ” and with a flick of his wand, Peter’s quill slowly levitated off the bed a few feet into the air. He grinned triumphantly, pride swelling in his chest for some reason he couldn’t quite explain. 

Peter snatched his quill out of the air, looking rather sour. “Show off,” he muttered.

“You asked me to show you,” Sirius said defensively. 

“I think it was really good,” Remus said. “You’re really good, Sirius. Talented.”

Sirius felt his cheeks heat up and he ducked his head, still grinning. “Thank you.”

The door to the dorm swung open and hit against the wall with a louder  _ thunk  _ than usual, and Sirius knew it was James before he even turned around to look. “I hate these staircases!” he exclaimed, slamming the door shut behind him again. “Why do they  _ move?!” _

Sirius snorted and turned around to face James. “Did you get lost again?”

“Yes,” James grumbled. “I should make a map or something, that way I might be able to keep track on those  _ cursed  _ staircases.”

_ A map.  _ Sirius thought of Regulus back in Grimmauld, the way his quill had scratched in detailed pictures of what he thought the castle looked like, how deep in thought he’d been, only based it on what he had heard from their cousins. It wasn’t a bad idea to make a map, actually. It wouldn’t be near as good as Regulus’, and Sirius didn’t know if he could make two so Regulus could get one as well, but perhaps him and his friends could have one and let Regulus borrow it if he needed. 

“You know,” Sirius said. “We should make one. I’m sure there’s a spell we can learn that can track the staircases.”

Sirius didn’t stay at Hogwarts for the winter holidays, despite the threat from his mother. No, he was whisked back home to the cold and damp walls of Grimmauld Place, forced into stuffy dress robes as he had dinner with part of the Sacred 28, back forced straight, nose held high. It had been a drag, but at least Regulus had been there, acting as if nothing had happened at the beginning of the year. And now Sirius was back at Hogwarts, back in the warmth of large fires and comfortable mattresses and back with his  _ friends.  _

They had only been back for a week, and Remus had been back for two days before he disappeared again, which Sirius thought was odd, but he chose to not give it much thought. Instead, they all put their energy down into the map they had said they would do. Seated by a table in the buzzing common room—homework strewn across it to make it look far more innocent than Sirius thought it was—Peter sketched on a piece of parchment.

Because Peter, as it turned out, was a rather good artist, and with James and Sirius hovering over the piece of parchment he was working on, telling him  _ Oh, and don’t forget the squashy sofa!  _ or  _ That staircase looks good  _ every few minutes, Peter had sketched out the Gryffindor common room with surprising accuracy. Sirius knew that they couldn’t finish the map until one of them learned the correct spells, which would take longer than he wanted, but they could at least  _ start _ .

James slumped back down in his chair again, pulling out his Potions homework instead of hovering over Peter. “Sirius, help, please.”

“What?” Sirius sank down next to him, looking over at James’ parchment. It was blank, except for an untidy scrawl in the top right corner that read  _ J. Potter  _ and an underlined headline:  _ Potions. _ “You haven’t written anything.”

“I know,” James whined. “Help.”

Sirius sighed before launching into an explanation about the Wiggenweld potion and its properties, ingredients and ever changing colours. Everything Sirius said, James scribbled down with his impossibly untidy scrawl, but after a while Sirius’ throat got tired and sore and James’ furious scribbling slowed down, his quill ending up between his lips every few seconds instead of on the parchment. Peter was still sketching quietly, seemingly more focused now that Sirius and James wasn’t hovering over his shoulder. 

Sirius leaned back in his seat, letting his shoulders roll forward instead of back with a deep sigh, and James did the same

“You know, I really don’t like that slimey looking git Evans hangs out with. Dunno why, though, he just gives me a weird vibe,” James said after a while, his quill still stuck in the corner of his mouth, wobbling slightly as he spoke.

“Evans who?” Sirius asked, thinking back at all of his classmates before it clicked. The freckled redhead in their year. “What, the mudblood? Wh—“ Sirius barely had time to see James’ hand close, and before he could finish his sentence, James’ fist connected with Sirius’ jaw with enough force to almost knock him out of his chair.

The buzz of voices suddenly came to an abrupt stop and the common room fell quiet, save for the low hum of music playing from the record player by the fireplace (Sirius had stared at that for hours, with Remus sitting next to him, explaining how it works). Sirius hand went up to his jaw; it had already become slightly warm, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he would have a bruise there by tomorrow morning. James rose from his seat and started packing up his things, and slowly, Peter did the same.

“Why d—” Sirius begun, but James cut him off with a sharp look as he shoved all of his things into his bag.

“Don’t you  _ dare  _ say that word again,  _ Black, _ ” James spat, and then he turned around and left. 

Peter stared at Sirius for a few seconds, face unreadable, then he said, “I thought you said you weren’t like your family,” before he left as well, leaving Sirius hurt and confused. 

Peter and James had ignored Sirius for a week. Every move, every word, every breath was met with silence and an eye roll. Remus was back now as well, and he hadn’t really spoken to Sirius either and he didn’t understand  _ why. _ He tried to understand why James had punched him when he said the word  _ mudblood  _ and he’d tried to talk to them but they never even spared him a glance and all Sirius could think was  _ I should’ve been in Slytherin.  _

He ate dinner alone, did his homework alone, he slept alone with never ending nightmares of sharp talons and barking dogs and watched as James laughed and ruffled Peter’s hair, as Remus sat quiet but still in the company of his friends, looking sickly and tired but still  _ with them _ and Sirius was alone and confused and  _ nothing made sense  _ and perhaps he should’ve really been in Slytherin with Cissy and Bella because then he wouldn’t have had to go through this. 

And now night had fallen and every time Sirius closed his eyes he felt talons in his shoulders and he heard the dogs barking and the floorboards creak and the snores from the other boys in his room, and all he could do was toss and turn, kicking off the duvet only to shiver and pull it back up. 

The floorboards creaked  _ so loudly,  _ closer and closer to Sirius’ bed. He bolted upright, his heart hammering in his chest, ready to leap out of his throat, and then the maroon curtains on his bed rustled and got pulled apart and-- 

Remus stood there, looking just as sickly and tired as he always did, his hair that same dusty blond mop, shimmering in the weak light of the crescent moon outside the window He opened his mouth, then closed it and opened it again, then said, “Will you please be quiet? I can’t sleep.”

“Sorry,” said Sirius quietly. “I just… I get these nightmares and everytime I close my eyes it’s  _ right there  _ and I—"

“Shut up,” Remus said, and Sirius’ mouth closed immediately. Remus dragged his hands over his face and sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s fine,” Sirius mumbled. 

“So… Nightmares?” Remus asked. Sirius nodded. “I get them too.”

“Oh,” Sirius said. He ran his hand through his hair; it had grown a little longer now, the ends frayed and uneven. He liked it like that, when it wasn’t controlled or fussed over and he could just  _ be. _ “Do you… Do you want a hug? James hugs me— I mean,  _ used to  _ hug me when I couldn’t sleep.”

“I… Yeah, yes, sure,” Remus said, then sat down next to Sirius on the bed. Sirius scooted a bit closer, then awkwardly wrapped his arms around the slightly smaller boy. Remus hugged back, and Sirius all but melted into him, closing his eyes as he hugged him tighter. 

“Why doesn’t James and Peter speak to you?” Remus asked after a while. Sirius tensed and pulled away. He didn’t  _ know,  _ that was the whole thing. He couldn’t sleep or eat because he was so alone and he didn’t know  _ why  _ and it bothered him to no end.

“I… I don’t know,” Sirius mumbled. “I—I said  _ mudblood  _ the other week and then James just… punched me and I don’t understand why.” 

Remus backed away a little, frowning. “What?”

“Yeah, I don’t know, I don’t understand and it just hurts, you know?”

“Don’t you know what m—  _ that word  _ means?”

“No?”

“Oh.”

"What?" Sirius frowned. 

"It's a slur," Remus explained. "A bad word. It's… it means  _ dirty blood _ . It's awful."

"Oh," was the only thing Sirius could say at first. "I… I had no idea, I…" he trailed off, then swallowed hard and continued, "My parents use that word all the time, I thought… I thought it was just what… they were called, you know?”

“No,” said Remus, shaking his head. “They’re muggleborns. Or just, you know, witches and wizards, since they’re every bit of magic that we are.”

_ Since they’re every bit of magic that we are.  _ It echoed in Sirius’ head, overpowering barking dogs and feelings of talons on his shoulder.  _ Just like us.  _ He liked that. No thoughts or claims of  _ superiority _ or  _ the Black legacy.  _ He nodded, offering Remus a small smile. 

“Yeah.”

"James!"

"Bugger off, Black!"

"Let me just explain!"

A week and a half, it had gone, and after talking to Remus behind burgundy curtains in dim, crescent moonlight, and Sirius decided it was time to explain to him  _ why _ he said what he said, just like he told Remus.  _ Mudblood,  _ to Sirius, was just another adjective,  _ what they were _ , and it had always been. He heard it tossed around at the dinner table by his parents, behind closed doors by his father's study, at fancy Pureblood get-togethers. Sirius  _ didn't know. _

James stopped in the middle of the courtyard, Peter on his side, and turned around to face Sirius. He looked determined, with brown eyes set in an angry glare, and Sirius returned that very same look as he stepped forward.

"I didn't know," he said. "I really,  _ really  _ didn't know that m—  _ that word _ , was a bad word."

The determined look fell off James' face. "What?"

"I didn't know," Sirius repeated. His heart was hammering in his chest as he tried to figure out was James' facial expression meant. Confusion, maybe? Anger?

"How could you  _ not know? _ " James snarled.

Sirius grimaced, trying to figure out a way to explain his parents and they beliefs that Sirius never understood.  _ They're every bit of magic that we are.  _ Sirius believed in  _ that.  _ It seemed so much more reasonable, so much kinder and  _ warmer  _ than the slurs and taunts around Grimmauld.

Sirius had thought of a way to explain  _ why  _ he said it; he didn't know. As simple as that. He hadn't, however, thought of a way to explain his parents and their curses and hexes and cold and steely glares.

"My parents," he said eventually. "You said it yourself: they're bad."

“Oh,” said James, frowning over at Peter, who shrugged. And that was it. 

Suddenly Sirius ate dinner with James, Peter and Remus, sat with them on James’ bed and talked about the muggle comics and the telly-box, played Exploding Snap and Gobstones and talked until the late hours at night. They studied together again, walked to class together, flicked Sirius on the nose when he messed up and accidentally said  _ that word,  _ and Sirius thought that perhaps he shouldn't have been in Slytherin with Cissy and Bella, and perhaps he belonged in Gryffindor after all.


End file.
